Entering my third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I heard the worst news on the first day of the new term. Sirius Black, a murderer who had escaped from Azkaban Prison, was apparently after me. Worse, he was the one who had killed my parents.
During nights when I couldn't sleep from fear, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher appeared. His name was Remus Lupin. An older man in worn-out robes with a tired face. But his classes were more interesting than any I'd ever t
Forbidden Love - The Secret of the Scars — The Werewolf and the Ancient Texts of the Restricted Section
The morning of September 3rd. The light streaming through the window of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory still carried the lingering traces of summer.
Fianna MacGregor lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling for a while.
(I had a strange dream.)
All she remembered were amber eyes. And the warmth of a hand that had touched her cheek. She couldn't recall the content of the dream anymore, but those two things alone remained, softly smoldering deep in her chest.
She sat up and opened the curtains. The surface of the Black Lake glittered, reflecting the morning sun. Beyond it, at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, several dark shadows floated.
Dementors.
The Ministry of Magic had stationed them at the castle to search for Sirius Black, who had escaped from Azkaban. Apparently, several students had fallen ill on yesterday's train as well. Fianna remembered that she had been one of them, and unconsciously touched the locket pendant beneath her collarbone.
Her grandmother's keepsake. Her parents' only keepsake. The cool sensation of silver.
She shook her head and began changing into her uniform.
The Great Hall was crowded from the morning. The ceiling reflected a clear, sunny sky. Students sat packed at the four house tables.
Fianna took her usual seat at the edge of the Gryffindor table. The students around her were absorbed in conversations with their own friends. No one spoke to her.
(It's fine.)
Thinking that, she reached for a piece of bread—that was when it happened.
A brown owl fluttered down in front of her. It indicated a small piece of paper tied to its leg with its beak.
Fianna tilted her head and untied the paper.
"Did you sleep well yesterday? Don't push yourself too hard. — R.J. Lupin"
A short note, just two lines.
But Fianna's fingertips stopped there.
(Whether I slept well, he asks.)
She remembered what had happened on that train. The cold chill. Red light. Green flashes. Someone's scream. And the warm hand that had touched her cheek.
To think that a professor would worry about her.
Having grown up in an orphanage, she had no memory of anyone ever asking her "did you sleep well?" No one had ever worried about her health, let alone gone out of their way to send her a letter the next morning.
(Why me, of all people?)
The center of her chest grew warm. But confused by that warmth, she quickly folded the note and tucked it into the inner pocket of her robes.
"MacGregor, who's that from?"
The girl sitting next to her peered over with a curious look.
"...It's nothing. Nothing at all."
Fianna answered curtly and bit into her bread.
"Hmm. From Professor Lupin? I heard you were helped on the Express."
That voice carried to several people around the table. A few of them glanced at Fianna.
"Wow, so you know Professor Lupin."
"I don't know him. It was just a coincidence."
Saying that, she cast her eyes down. She didn't want the conversation to spread any further. She had acquired that air about her over three years.
The students around her turned away, looking bored. Fianna let out a small sigh.
(I knew it would turn out like this.)
Whenever someone found out something about her, it was always like this. She would build a wall herself to keep them from stepping any further in.
But today, just a little, that wall felt frustrating.
First period was Defense Against the Dark Arts. The third-year classroom was on the third floor of the West Tower. Fianna climbed the stairs with the other students. The moving staircases shifted direction midway. She leaped across without hesitation, landing on the correct landing.
When she opened the classroom door, it was quiet inside.
"Oh, you're early."
Professor Lupin stood in front of the teacher's desk. Tattered robes, dull brown hair. A slightly tired face. But his amber eyes held a quiet light.
"...Good morning."
Fianna gave a small bow.
"Yes, good morning. Sit wherever you like."
He smiled and straightened the books on the desk. She could see old scars running across his right wrist. Just for a moment, through the gap in his sleeve.
(...Those scars.)
Fianna quickly looked away. She remembered that his fingers had been covered in scars on yesterday's train, too. But now wasn't the time for that.
She sat at a seat by the window. Students filed in one after another, and the classroom began to buzz.
"Quiet down."
Professor Lupin stood at the desk. His voice was low and calm.
"Today, we'll be doing a practical lesson. Put away your textbooks."
A stir ran through the classroom.
"Practical?" "What are we going to do?" "Don't tell me, magical creatures?"
Professor Lupin placed his hand on a large wooden box beside the desk. From inside the box, there was a faint sound of something moving.
"Are you all familiar with Boggarts?"
"Boggarts?"
"A magical creature that embodies fear. It takes the form of a person's greatest fear, exactly as it is."
Professor Lupin put his hand on the lid of the box.
"However, it has a weakness. Laughter."
"Laughter?"
"Yes. When a Boggart is laughed at, it loses its power. While imagining a comical form, you cast this spell. Riddikulus."
He opened the lid of the box.
From inside, something like a black mist rose waveringly. The air in the classroom suddenly turned cold.
"Now, I'll have you go one at a time. Come to the front, and face the Boggart."
The students exchanged nervous looks.
"It's all right. I'll be right beside you to support you. If you get scared, you can stop at any time."
The first student timidly stepped forward. The Boggart appeared before them as a giant spider. A scream went up. But when Professor Lupin quietly spoke to them, the student raised their wand trembling and cast the spell. The spider transformed into a figure wearing roller skates. The classroom was filled with laughter.
Second, third—the turns progressed.
And then it was Fianna's turn.
"Ms. MacGregor, please."
Fianna stood up. Her legs felt slightly heavy. When she stood before the Boggart, the black mist slowly began to change shape.
(What will it show?)
For a moment, she thought that.
The next instant, her vision went pitch black.
—Red light.
—Someone's scream.
—A green flash.
—A cold floor. Small hands reaching out to grab something.
—And two shadows that stopped moving.
Fianna couldn't breathe.
(This is—)
A memory from when she was three. The night her parents died. Fragments she had seen countless times in dreams. But never this vivid, never this close.
(No.)
(I don't want to see this.)
Her body wouldn't move. Her breathing grew shallow. The back of her throat tightened.
"—Ms. MacGregor."
A low, calm voice.
Before she knew it, Professor Lupin was standing in front of her. Blocking the Boggart with his back.
"Let's stop here for today."
He said quietly. His voice carried through the entire classroom. The students looked at them with bewildered faces.
"Eh, but—"
"That's enough. You did well."
Professor Lupin whispered softly, only to Fianna.
"...You did well."
That voice, and the warmth of his back, slowly seeped into Fianna's chest.
(He protected me.)
In the orphanage, she had no memory of anyone protecting her. She had always been alone.
And yet, now, this person was standing in front of her.
Class ended, and the students filed out of the classroom. Fianna stood up too. But her feet naturally turned toward the teacher's desk.
"Professor."
Professor Lupin had been erasing the blackboard. He turned around and looked at her.
"Ah, what is it?"
"Um, earlier... thank you. Thank you very much."
"It's not something you need to thank me for. That was my judgment."
He set down the eraser. At that moment, the sleeve of his right hand rolled up slightly.
Fianna saw it.
On his wrist, marks like old bite wounds. Several of them, overlapping.
(...)
She couldn't help but stare. Professor Lupin noticed.
"Ah, these are old scars."
He quietly lowered his sleeve.
"I was attacked by a dog when I was a child."
Saying that, he smiled just a little.
At that smile, Fianna's heart pounded loudly.
—Thump.
(What is this?)
The depths of her chest were hot. She could feel her face turning red.
"...I see."
"Yes. It's a story from long ago now."
He said it gently.
But Fianna felt she had seen something beyond that smile. For a moment, his amber eyes seemed to waver.
"...Excuse me."
Fianna left the classroom with barely a bow. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she pressed her hand against her heartbeat.
(Why is my heart racing like this?)
(He's just a professor.)
(I just saw some scars.)
She took a deep breath. But the pounding in her chest wouldn't settle.
Afternoon. The library.
Fianna stood before the Restricted Section. Madam Pince, the librarian, was dozing at the reception desk. Fianna silently showed her permission slip—third-years could enter the Restricted Section with a teacher's permission.
(I thought about asking Professor Lupin for permission, but...)
(In the end, I got Professor McGonagall's signature.)
She quietly opened the door to the Restricted Section.
The Restricted Section was dim. Bookshelves reached the ceiling. The smell of dust. The smell of old paper.
Fianna went through the shelves one by one. What she was looking for was an old text about werewolves.
(I don't even know why I'm looking for something like this.)
But those scars on his wrist. That tired face. Those amber eyes.
(I want to know.)
She found an old scroll. On the cover, it read:
"The Nature of Werewolves—Those Cursed to Lose Reason Under the Full Moon"
Fianna opened it.
Werewolves. A curse contracted by being bitten by a werewolf. On the night of the full moon, they are forced to transform and lose their reason. During transformation, there is a danger of attacking humans.
Heavily discriminated against by society. Difficulty finding employment. Admission to Hogwarts is often restricted as well.
(...I see.)
Fianna turned the page.
Wolfsbane Potion. A potion to maintain reason even on the night of the full moon. Its brewing is extremely difficult.
(With this, one can keep their reason.)
(But the brewing is difficult.)
She closed the scroll.
(No way.)
(Professor being a werewolf.)
(That can't be.)
But somewhere in her mind, another voice spoke.
(But those scars.)
(Attacked by a dog, he said.)
(Maybe he couldn't bring himself to say attacked by a wolf.)
Fianna shook her head. She was overthinking it.
But if it were true.
If Professor Lupin were a werewolf.
How much loneliness must he have carried, living all this time?
Fearing that he would become a monster every full moon.
Facing discrimination from society.
(...The same as me.)
She had lived alone in the orphanage. She could never show anyone her true self.
That loneliness overlapped.
Fianna returned the scroll to the shelf. Deep in her chest, there was a tightening pain.
As she left the Restricted Section and walked between the library shelves, a voice suddenly called out to her.
"You're MacGregor, aren't you?"
Fianna stopped.
When she turned around, a girl stood there.
Silvery platinum-blonde hair. Ice-like blue-gray eyes. A perfectly maintained uniform. A Slytherin tie.
Seraphina Malfoy.
A third-year Slytherin, and the young lady of the Malfoy family. There was no one at school who didn't know that name.
"...Yes."
Fianna answered warily.
"Gryffindor, right? I see you in the library often."
Seraphina smiled amiably.
"What are you researching?"
"...Just studying."
"I see."
Seraphina tilted her head. The gesture was elegant and perfect.
"You know, today's lesson with Professor Lupin was lovely."
A chill ran down Fianna's spine.
"He tends to be underestimated because he's new. But actually, he's extremely talented."
"...I see."
"You're close with Professor Lupin, aren't you?"
Seraphina's blue-gray eyes narrowed sharply.
"I heard you were together on the Express, too."
(...Why would she know that?)
F
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